


Jason Bourne Has Nothing On Angel Mojo

by wattpads_songbird



Series: Badass Cinnamon Roll Angel Cake (2015) [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 7.17, 7x17, Canon verse, Emmanuel Castiel, Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, M/M, season 7, the born-again identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wattpads_songbird/pseuds/wattpads_songbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emmanuel didn’t quite know who he was. He had faith, though, and part of him believed that on his jostled up path, all the pieces would in time fall together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jason Bourne Has Nothing On Angel Mojo

**Author's Note:**

> A Tumblr movement to appreciate everyone's favorite "badass cinnamon roll angel cake".
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July 11 | Cas Appreciation Week | Favorite Variation | Emmanuel

Emmanuel didn’t quite know who he was. He had faith, though, and part of him believed that on his jostled up path, all the pieces would in time fall together.

There were lots of things Emmanuel didn’t understand, but if he had to pick the most confusing, it would be the feeling that he had a gaping hole in his chest. It was like he was missing a part of himself. He wasn’t, in fact, missing any part of himself. He had two arms, two legs, all his fingers, and all his toes. 

He had a lovely person who cared for him. He had a place to call home. He had a talent that helped people. He couldn’t quite think of what he could possibly be missing.

Emmanuel spent all his time and put all his effort into sewing this hole closed. Some days, he’d think he had won, that the seam was going to hold, but then nightfall came. Any stitches made were viciously ripped apart by the waves of emotions that engulfed and suffocated Emmanuel.

So, every night like clockwork, he’d get up out of bed and make a cup of tea. He’d then go sit out on the porch in hopes of clearing his head. Most nights, he sat in silence. His only company the sound of crickets and the longing he feels in his chest, weighing him down like an anchor. Some nights, though, a voice rang in his head. 

Emmanuel knew he was probably going crazy. It wasn’t normal to hear voices in your head that weren’t your own. The voice pulled at the hole, fraying the edges of it so it grew in size. Emmanuel didn’t understand. How could a voice hold so much power?

“ _You’re not dead_ ,” the voice whispered.

Emmanuel pressed a hand to his heart. A steady rhythm could be felt against his palm. He didn’t think he was dead.

“ _Why did you do that you stupid son of a bitch_?”

His brow furrowed. What had he done? Emmanuel could only assume that it was something that had happened before he lost his memory, that part was obvious. He wondered if it had something to do with the river. It probably wasn’t smart to jump into that river. It did cost him his memory after all.

“... _I kept your coat for you. For when you come home_.”

His eyes dropped to his sleeves. His arms were already clad in a coat, though suddenly he felt very cold. It was as if the fabric he already wore wasn’t enough. He then looked behind him at the house. Was this not his home? A sadness unlike any other washed over him then. The sadness that comes with realization. This wasn’t home. He couldn’t remember home. Where was it? What was it?

Emmanuel knew he couldn’t go to Daphne with these thoughts. It would be highly disrespectful when all she had been was kind to him. He couldn’t be so selfish and practically tell her she wasn’t enough. So, Emmanuel sat on the porch, listening to the voice and longing to be with whomever it belonged to. 

This pattern continues until Emmanuel comes to his house one afternoon. A man with a face unlike he has ever seen rolls down the steps of the porch. Emmanuel applaudes himself for not freaking out. He instead internally shutters before looking up at the man who had placed him there. 

It’s a meeting of blue and green and the world seems to click into place. Emmanuel once again finds himself suffocating in emotion, but it’s not waves of harsh water. It’s instead a warmth that seems to emit from his very core. The warmth quickly travels throughout him, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. That’s not the only thing left in its wake. For after the warmth subsides some, the hole is filled. Not a visible stitch is left behind to be ripped open when the sun finally sets. 

Then again, Emmanuel wouldn’t be Emmanuel when the sun set. He’d be Castiel, and he’d be home. Though in this case, home wasn’t exactly a destination.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://magnificat-cas.tumblr.com/)
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> [Tag](https://www.tumblr.com/search/casappreciationweek)


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